


Drunk

by faithlessone



Series: Stormheart - (M!Trevelyan/Cassandra) [25]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Some more Fluff, and a story about Youthful Hijinks, with Cassandra and Leliana!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27286417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithlessone/pseuds/faithlessone
Summary: Returning from the temple of Mythal via Eluvian leads to Cassandra revealing a dark secret...
Relationships: Cassandra Pentaghast/Male Trevelyan, Male Inquisitor/Cassandra Pentaghast
Series: Stormheart - (M!Trevelyan/Cassandra) [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1756030
Comments: 11
Kudos: 26





	Drunk

He stumbles through the last mirror and lands heavily on his hands and knees, the ground solid beneath him once more. Stone flags, and a thin carpet. It feels a little familiar...

Hastily, he scrambles to his feet, ready for action.

“Where are we?”

“’Tis Skyhold.” Morrigan’s voice is dim and clouded, his ears still slightly ringing. The words mean little, especially when Varric bends over beside him and proceeds to heave the contents of his stomach across the floor.

“Varric?” He can’t help the alarm that sneaks into his voice.

The dwarf makes a pathetic and uncharacteristic whimper, wipes the back of his hand roughly across his mouth, and straightens. “That was magical, right?”

“Evidently,” Solas responds, unimpressed. His face is paler than it even usually is, though, and there’s a certain green tinge to his skin. Come to think of it, he hasn’t looked _well_ since they entered the temple. Perhaps it’s an elven thing. He makes a mental note to check in on Solas later.

Varric makes a disgusted noise to rival Cassandra on a really bad day, and spits, wiping his mouth again. “Remind me never to use one of those again. I don’t think they’re made for dwarves.”

He pats Varric a little awkwardly on the shoulder, and then turns to Cassandra.

“Are _you_ well?”

She has a face like thunder, staring at the now dormant mirror. At his touch, hand slipping into hers, she looks toward him.

“Today has given me… much to consider,” she says, her voice soft enough that he can barely hear it, even though the ringing has begun to subside. “But I am whole. You may check later.”

He offers her a smile he hopes is comforting, and finally, Morrigan’s words register in his mind. “Wait, Morrigan, did you say _Skyhold_?”

She nods. “We required safe harbour, and ‘twas the only Eluvian I was certain of finding. Do not fear, Inquisitor, Corypheus cannot follow us here this way.”

What? Does she really think _that_ is his largest concern at the moment? They left an army in the Arbor Wilds. Soldiers and scouts and allies. Hundreds, even thousands of people. The bulk of their forces, not to mention Cullen and Josephine…

“It’s not _us_ I’m worried about!”

Cassandra squeezes his hand in what he supposes is meant to be a gesture of comfort, but his brain feels like it’s filling with red smoke.

“What do you think is going to happen when Corypheus cannot follow us? We defeated his general, took the prize he wanted, and then evaded his capture!” He turns, pressing his free hand against the glass. Solid and cool beneath his fingers. “Open it up again! We have to go back.”

Morrigan continues to be unperturbed, and perhaps even a little… hostile toward him. “We cannot return. The Eluvian at the Temple of Mythal shattered in our wake. I felt the ripples of its destruction as we passed through the Crossroads. Did you not?”

“What?”

Though he understands the words she’s saying, the implications are almost too great for him to handle at present. He pushes against the glass, crackles of energy starting to emanate from his fingers without his conscious effort.

“If you break this one, our position will hardly improve.”

She’s right. Annoyingly.

He pulls his hand back, shaking it and watching the rogue sparks fly.

“What are _you_ doing here?”

Dropping Cassandra’s hand, he whirls around at the new voice. Well, not _new_. As he expected, Leliana is stood in the open doorway, her bow drawn.

Morrigan laughs coldly. “Stand down, _Spymaster_. We are who we appear to be.”

Leliana’s fingers tense on the bow for a moment, and then she carefully points it toward Morrigan. “This door was locked from the outside. Why should I believe you?”

“Hirol's Lava Burst,” Cassandra says, her voice solemn.

He frowns, confused by the seeming non-sequitur, but, sure enough, Leliana lowers her bow, an incredulous smile lighting up her face for a heartbeat before she laughs. A beautiful, musical sound. He can’t remember the last time he heard her laugh without it sounding cold and hollow.

“I... I almost forgot that,” she says. “Maker, that was a _night_.”

He’s glad to see that Solas and Varric look at least as confused as he feels. Morrigan tries to retain her cat-like aloofness, but even she seems a little intrigued.

“Share with the class?” he asks.

Leliana laughs again. “Cassandra, you should tell it, no? It is mostly your story, after all.”

Cassandra snorts, drawing his attention back to her. “We both swore never to speak of it again. I do not see any reason for that to change.”

With the prospect of a secret, and likely a scandalous one at that, Varric perks up. “Come on now, Seeker, spill.”

She bristles. “It was a moment of youthful indiscretion. It does not need to be relived.”

“You were almost thirty, were you not?”

“ _Leliana_!”

He steps between them. Not that he’s really expecting either of them to attack the other, but there’s no need to make the situation yet more awkward.

“How long will it take one of your birds to make it to the Arbor Wilds and back?”

His spymaster furrows her brow for the space of a heartbeat, and then her expression clears. “A day, perhaps two. Depending on the wind and weather, how long it takes for a reply to be written and dispatched.” She pauses and then continues, her tone more delicate. “You travelled through the Eluvian.”

Morrigan gives her a sardonic smile. “Evidently.”

Leliana’s smile turns honey-sweet in response. “That was not a question. My question: you did not tell Josie or Cullen, no?”

“We were being chased by Corypheus at the time,” he explains, sheepish. “It was rather a snap decision. But we need to get word to them. To them all. As soon as possible. I fear what may be happening in our absence.”

She nods. “Of course. We will write at once.”

They leave the small chamber. Morrigan splits off almost immediately, without a word, but it isn’t hard to guess that she wants to see her son. Perfectly understandable in the circumstances. They leave Solas and Varric in the hall – Solas to return to his research, Varric to rest after the exertions of the escape. Also understandable.

“Are you sure you’re well?” he asks Cassandra quietly, as they approach the stairs to the rookery. “Leliana and I can deal with this alone if you want to rest, or take a bath.”

She falters for a moment, but slips her hand into his. “I would rather keep my eye on you for now, if it is all the same. And I do not think I would enjoy being submerged in water at present.”

He frowns, but quickly gleans her meaning. The well. He squeezes her hand.

“Stay with me.”

The library is somehow quieter and darker without Dorian’s presence, the rookery too, with few scouts still in residence. Eerie. He and Leliana make quick work of the note, giving only the most basic details – that the Inquisitor’s party is safe, and the Inquisition forces should return to Skyhold immediately.

“Should we not tell them more?” he asks, but Leliana shakes her head.

“The Arbor Wilds are thick with Corypheus’ forces. Should the bird be intercepted, we do not want to give them more information to use against us.”

When the bird has been sent, its message firmly attached, they tell Leliana all that had befallen them since arriving at the Arbor Wilds. Only the afternoon before. It seems like so much longer. She listens patiently, her interest piquing at the mention of the Well, and particularly at the knowledge that _Brennan_ had drunk the water, stealing its power not only from Corypheus, but Morrigan as well.

“You should be wary, Inquisitor. She is not the type to easily forgive such a trespass against her,” she warns him.

“So long as she continues to aid us until Corypheus is stopped.”

“Hmm.” Leliana’s tone is doubtful, but she doesn’t add anything more. Instead, she gestures toward the stairs. “Go. Rest.”

His brow furrows. “Shouldn’t we go to the war room? Discuss our plans? Corypheus may move on Skyhold at any moment. We should plan to rout him out before he can do so.”

She shakes her head.

“If he is wise, he will hide and rebuild his strength before he attacks again. We’ve been looking for his base since all this began, with no luck. When Josie and Cullen return, we will discuss it.”

Something… whispers in his head. Voices upon voices. He realises that what he had earlier taken as ringing in his ears was always whispers. So many voices he couldn’t distinguish one from another. But now, one is louder than all the rest.

“He will not hide.”

He echoes it, unconsciously, unaware that he has even spoken until he catches both Leliana and Cassandra frowning at him.

“I think… I think it’s the Well. Abelas said that his people poured their knowledge, their lives into it, before they died. I think… I think they’re all in my head?”

“You understand them?” Cassandra asks.

He nods. “Some of it, at least. That was the first thing that sounded clear.”

Leliana smiles. “Then thank the Maker it was you who drank and not Morrigan. Then we’d have to rely on _her_ interpretation and whatever _she_ chose to tell us. Do you hear anything else?”

Closing his eyes, he tries to discern any further words from the constant low cacophony, but nothing else jumps out. Opening them again, he shakes his head.

“You should rest, as I said. Perhaps then they will become clearer.”

He nods.

When they reach his quarters, Cassandra immediately starts to strip off her armour. He usually enjoys the sight, her protective outer shell shedding to reveal her soft skin beneath – he’s even become rather adept at helping. But this evening, all he can do is shrug off his enchanter coat, leaving it where it drops, before sitting down on the couch. She usually tuts at him when he does that, but instead, once she’s dressed in just her leggings and one of his shirts, she picks it up for him, draping it over the armour stand beside hers before joining him on the couch.

The fire has been lit, even though they weren’t expected back, and he’s grateful for it. He sits, staring into the flames, even as Cassandra curls up beside him.

“How do you feel?” she asks softly.

He isn’t quite sure how to answer that. The hum of voices is still clouding his mind, though they seem quieter again now. Just the faintest throbbing murmur, but, like a toothache, he can’t ignore it.

“I’m worried about our people,” he confesses. “And this. In my head. I should have asked Abelas more questions. I should have asked what the price would be. Perhaps I should have even let Morrigan drink instead.”

She lifts his arm, curling under it and resting her head against his chest. “I am afraid I agree with Leliana on that point. If it had to be one of you two, or Corypheus, I am glad it was you. I do wonder, however, why Solas was _so_ against drinking himself. It was Elven knowledge after all, and after all the wild goose chases he has sent and dragged us on in the pursuit of Elven knowledge…”

“Hmm. Perhaps he knew what the price was, and didn’t want to pay it. I should talk to him.”

“Tomorrow. After you have rested. He will likely be deep in the Fade by now anyhow. As should you be.”

“My head hurts.”

It’s rare for him to admit he’s in pain, even to her, but he can’t ignore it. Usually he’d try a little healing magic and the pain would be gone, but he doesn’t fancy his chances of helping the pain without disrupting whatever magic put the voices there in the first place. Best not to risk it.

She shifts, drawing him with her until their positions are reversed, his head on her shoulder instead. Running her fingers through his hair, she sighs.

“I wish I could take the pain away from you, my love.”

He catches her other hand in his, bringing it to his lips. “I know. Thank you. And I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? For what?”

“I heard you. Your voice. When I was in the Well. ‘Maker, please, do not let it end this way.’. You did say that, didn’t you?”

She looks away from him, and he lifts his head from her shoulder, squeezing her hand.

“I thought so. I’m sorry, I should have asked you before… before.”

“My answer would not have changed, Brennan,” she says. “Of the available options, you were the clear candidate.”

He leans in, pressing a chaste but warm kiss to her lips, resisting the urge to drag her onto his lap and kiss her properly. His head is still pounding, and he doesn’t want to love her half-heartedly. Especially not tonight.

“Perhaps a bedtime story? Distract us both?”

A smile brightens her face. “What would you have me tell you? Something more from my childhood? Or perhaps my interrogation of Varric? You liked my story about arriving in Kirkwall. Or else another chapter or two from the book we were reading last week?”

“Or you could tell me about Hirol’s Lava Burst…”

She snorts. “I knew I should not have said that within your earshot. Yours _or_ Varric’s. But it was the only way I could think to convince Leliana so quickly.”

He grins. “Well, you don’t _have_ to tell me. I could come up with my own version. So, you, Leliana, ten years younger, a bottle of potent liquor…”

“Ugh,” she interrupts him. “Fine. I will tell you.”

Shifting so his head is in her lap, comfortable as can be, he tucks her hand against his heart, keeping it pressed there.

“We were… recently acquainted,” she begins. “It was the wish of Divine Justinia that we get to know each other better, so as to perform our duties with more cohesion. Leliana invited me to her rooms one evening. She had a bottle of that… stuff.”

“Hirol’s Lava Burst,” he supplies.

“Quite. A friend of hers, whom she had travelled with during the Blight, had sent it to her.”

“During the _Blight_? Not the Warden? Please… please tell me you got drunk under the auspices of the Hero of Ferelden?”

She chuckles softly. “No, my love. Elissa had already gone missing by this point. The gift was sent by Oghren, another of the wardens in the party.”

“Ahh, the dwarf.”

That made slightly more sense. Leliana had made a number of notes in his book correcting the author’s delicate euphemisms about Oghren’s behaviour and deportment during the Fifth Blight and the ensuing events. He has no trouble believing that he would have sent such a gift.

“Leliana mixed us each a cocktail. I forget the name. Something… dragon, or drake. Whatever it was, it tasted like… burning. But neither of us could show weakness in front of the other, not at that point. So we drank. And a second. By the third I could not feel my tongue or my throat at all, and it got easier. In hindsight, that is the moment I should have stopped.”

“Sounds like… Did Bull ever make you drink his… I forget the name. Tasted like burning too.”

She laughs again. “Maraas-lok. And no. The sight of you being half-carried across the courtyard by no less than four of his Chargers after a night drinking it was enough to ensure I refused him when we returned from Crestwood.”

He has no memory of that, but to be honest, he has little memory of that night at all, so it stands to reason.

“So what happened after the third drink? Leliana said it was a _night_.”

“After the third drink, we began to argue. I forget how it began, but it is unimportant. She claimed that her position as the Left Hand was more difficult than mine, as the Right Hand. I argued that my position was the more difficult. It became… heated. Eventually, we decided that the only course of action was to… test our opinions.”

He frowns. “How?”

“We traded clothes. I gave her my gambeson and Seeker surcoat, and she, in turn, gave me her garments. She was accustomed to wearing Chantry robes at that time.”

Oh, well… _that’s_ an image.

“I don’t suppose she still… has any? That you could borrow, perchance?”

Her hand tightens in his hair in a way he guesses is supposed to be chastising, but is actually rather nice. He winces anyway, falling silent again. She continues with her story.

“I was charged with infiltrating the bedroom of one of the Revered Mothers, a lady who had fallen out of favour with the Divine, and retrieving a particular personal item, to prove I had been successful. The Mothers were at prayer and therefore it should have been a relatively uncomplicated task.”

“A personal item?”

She hesitates. “Yes.”

He grins. “It was her smallclothes, wasn’t it?”

“No!”

“What was it then?”

She hesitates again.

“As I thought. Smallclothes.”

“A _personal item_ ,” she repeats. “Do you want to hear the rest of the story or not?”

He presses his finger to his lips.

“Entering her rooms was not difficult. The Mothers rarely locked their doors. I was obtaining the… item, when the door opened. The Revered Mother had returned unexpectedly early, and caught me. However, by fortune of the dim light and unfamiliar clothing, she did not recognise me. I fled from the room without my prize, returning to Leliana’s chamber. She laughed, telling me that it proved her job was more difficult than mine. I was angry, and challenged her to dress in the rest of my armour and fight a dragon.”

He is forced to stifle a laugh behind his fingers, and she sighs.

“Yes, Leliana pointed out that she had already fought a dragon, at the Temple of the Sacred Ashes, with the Warden and her party. She refused to leave the palace to kill another. Then she poured another glass of the liquor. We stayed awake all night, trading stories of our conquests and accomplishments. At first it was nothing more than boasting and arguing, but… it developed into a certain level of mutual respect and admiration.”

“And then you became friends?”

“Not quite then. Early the following morning, there was a knock on the door. The Divine summoned us both to a meeting. We hastened to her office, both suffering greatly from our immoderation. She gave us both very strange glances, and it was then that we realised we had never re-dressed in our own clothes. I was still garbed as a Chantry sister, and Leliana was wearing parts of my armour. She explained that she had called us both to investigate a complaint made by a Revered Mother, that a thief had broken into the palace, dressed in Chantry robes. But then that clearly the mystery had been solved by our… less than customary appearance. Leliana confessed that it had been her idea and offered to apologise to the Revered Mother for the violation. The Divine gave us a lecture about behaviour befitting our positions, but then released us without punishment. From that point, we considered ourselves friends, and swore never to speak of it again.”

He can’t help but smile, even though she does sound the slightest bit resentful.

“So between you, Hirol’s Lava Burst means trust and friendship and bad judgement? A good code.”

She laughs. “Between us, should we ever discuss it, which we will _not_ , I imagine it means needless grandstanding and Divine Justinia’s amused dismay. In truth, it was simply the first thing that came to mind when I needed to prove my identity to her, and, by extension, everyone else’s. Something that no one would have been able to discover.”

He nods thoughtfully. “It was still good.”

Carefully, she smooths his hair, sighing. “How does your head feel? Could you sleep now?”

His head is still full of voices, but he’s beginning to get used to them now. His worry too, has subsided. The bird is on its way to the Arbor Wild, and Maker permitting, it will soon bring a reply. He trusts that Cullen’s army will have stood against the red templars, that Josephine will have retreated as she promised in the event that their position was threatened.

He doesn’t risk nodding, but tells her, “I think so.”

She helps him to strip off the rest of his clothing, her hands more gentle than he is used to. He really must have scared her at the temple. Silently, he makes a promise to himself that no matter what happens, with the voices in his head, or the price he must pay, or what must surely be the final stand against Corypheus, he will survive. That she will survive too. He will make this all up to her, one way or another.

For now, however, he lets her draw the blankets up over both of them, and pulls her close to himself; close enough to feel the rise and fall of her chest as she sinks toward sleep.

A thought occurs to him.

“I’ve thought of a benefit to the Eluvian,” he muses, tightening his arms around her. “Aside from the speedy escape from Corypheus, of course.”

“Hmm?”

“No bedrolls!”

(She laughs softly, and his heart sings.)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi my lovely readers! Some bad news, and some good news. The bad news is, I'm super sorry, but due to next month being November, and therefore NaNoWriMo, I'm going to take a few weeks off posting for the sake of my sanity. But the good news is, I will be working on this series for NaNoWriMo, so come December I should have lots more fic to share with you!!  
> I will be posting a Mass Effect fic for N7 day next weekend, if you're into that, but if not, see you in December!! Stay safe and healthy! ♥


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